


Dearly Beloved

by elutherya



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Buried Alive, Cults, Horror, M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 01:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21218447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elutherya/pseuds/elutherya
Summary: The moment that they had found Jongho that early afternoon in the diner, they had known he was theirs.





	Dearly Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning**: Please heed the tags of this fic. While some of the content they cover is glossed over, they are still important themes.
> 
> This was written for CAWlloween! I didn't think I was going to be able to actually finish it, because I've just had a very rough past month, but I decided to try. I ended up rewriting a lot of what happened, cutting a lot of scenes and turned it into something a little quieter. I think it was fitting, in the end.

Yeosang smooths the cloth up Jongho’s calf, wiping away the dirt that’s made its way up the length of his legs, before dipping it back down into the bowl of lukewarm water. Jongho watches him, carefully chewing on the slices of honey drenched apple that Seonghwa keeps passing him. Flexing his toes, he nudges the bowl, just to watch the way the water ripples and throws the light from the candles flickering around them. It earns him a gentle swat to his ankle, Yeosang’s voice filling the room despite how low he keeps it, “Stop that.”

With a huff, Jongho let’s Yeosang lift his other leg, continuing to nibble on the chunk of apple Seonghwa had just given him. It’s easy to lose track of time, with the way the candles flicker and the wind howls outside of the tent.

“It would have been easier if I’d just worn shoes,” Jongho states, shivering when Yeosang pushes his legs apart to run the cloth down the inside of his thighs. All the dirt has been cleaned away, the last of the evidence of their sprint through the woods removed from his skin.

“You could have,” Yunho says, pushing in through the tent flap, “but it would have defeated the ceremony of the whole thing.”

Seonghwa holds out the last slice of apple, fingers sticky with honey, and Jongho takes it without complaint. It earns him a quick kiss to his cheek, before Seonghwa is sliding past Yunho and out of the tent. Yunho takes his spot happily, hands filled with white linen that has Jongho twisting in his chair to see.

A pinch to the top of his thigh has Jongho jerking his attention back to Yeosang, who is carefully draping the wet cloth over the edge of the bowl. When he’s done, he looks up and Jongho can’t help the way his heart flutters at the smile on his face. “You’re all clean, get up so Yunho can dress you.”

Jongho stands up, shivering as the water grows cold on his skin. Yeosang stands with him, hands pulling at the shawl they’d wrapped around his shoulders after they’d stripped him of his muddy clothes. Clothes that he’s sure have ended up in the fire they have going outside of the tent. It’s not like he’ll need them anyways.

As soon as he pulls the shawl free, Yeosang bends to pick up the bowl of water and leaves. Jongho watches him go, unable to help himself from watching the way Yeosang’s skin practically glows under the candle light, through the sheer shirt he’s wearing. Yunho laughs and Jongho turns back to him.

Yunho sets the pile of linen down onto the chair Jongho had vacated, reaches back out. Jongho stills as his hands brush the hair off of his forehead, before they drop and settle over his waist. “Are you worried?”

“No,” is what Jongho wants to say, but he knows that Yunho would catch the lie.

Instead he swallows the word down, before nodding his head.

“You’re allowed to be,” Yunho soothes, low voice thrumming over Jongho pleasantly. He closes his eyes, nods again and it earns him a quick press of Yunho’s lips to his forehead. “Let’s get you dressed.”

It’s easy to forget the chill with Yunho’s hands on his skin, but it settles back in when Yunho lifts them to reach for the pile of linen on the chair.

Jongho lets Yunho move him as he needs, pulling the fabric around him. Once he’s satisfied with the drape, Yunho pulls something that glitters red and gold from his pocket, and pins it all in place.

As soon as Yunho steps back, Jongho reaches up, fingers tracing over the lines of the calla lily sitting above his heart. Yunho doesn’t give him long to admire it though, quickly taking his hand and pulling him to the door of the tent. His grip is sure and Jongho doesn’t feel himself falter once as they step out of the tent and into the clearing.

“He’s ready,” Yunho calls and this time it’s Wooyoung scurrying to their side.

“My turn!” Wooyoung grins, taking Jongho’s hand from Yunho and pulling him towards the fire. It’s died down significantly since they started it in the late afternoon, but Jngho knows it’s because they’ll have to put it out soon. It’s why the bowl that Yeosang had used to wash his skin is still filled with water, sitting beside the fire.

“You look pretty, Jongho-ah,” Wooyoung purrs and Jongho focuses on him. He’s grinning and his excitement is obvious, and it makes his worries seem far away. With the way Wooyoung is smiling at him, there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for him in that moment. It’s the same for the rest of the boys, who are spread out across the clearing. He would give them everything. Is giving them everything.

Wooyoung cups his face between his hands, kisses him and Jongho laughs against his lips. He can smell the sweet smelling oil on Wooyoung’s hands and it makes his head spin pleasantly. Wooyoung smooths his thumbs over the curve of his jaw, down his neck and over his collar bone. He works the oil into his skin quickly as he kisses Jongho breathless.

“It’s almost time. Finishing touches, Wooyoungie,” San’s voice breaks through and Wooyoung pulls away with a displeased noise. San nudges in between them, hands gentle as he lifts his hands above Jongho’s head.

Wooyoung doesn’t move away, just presses tight along San’s back and watches as San carefully affixes the white lace veil atop Jongho’s head.

“Damn,” San’s voice comes out quiet and Jongho shuffles nervously. San grabs his hand quickly when he notices, “No baby, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” it’s easy for Jongho to say under the veil, vision obscured.

“Come on, it’s time.” San says gently. A splash behind him and the smell of smoke rises. He knows that it’s Yeosang putting out the fire, even though he can’t see him.

It throws the clearing into darkness, the moon the only thing to light the space. It makes dread curl in his stomach, but now’s not the time to hesitate, not when he’s so close, not when it’s for _them_.

San and Wooyoung lead him forward, to the side of the clearing that Jongho has been avoiding looking at.

Through the veil, Jongho can see Hongjoong standing there, waiting for them, candle in his hand. Mingi is a looming shadow beside him, and at their feet, a pit that has Jongho’s stomach twisting nervously.

Standing at the edge, San and Wooyoung let him go, passing him in to Mingi’s waiting hands. They’re warm and strong against his elbow, reassuring. He doesn’t say anything, but the way his fingers squeeze against Jongho’s arm says everything.

“Are you ready Jongho?”

Jongho tears his gaze away from the hole, looks towards Hongjoong. He can feel his legs trembling, his breaths too short and tight to hide the fear that wants to bubble up and strangle him. A small whimper pulls out of him, before he can stop it and Hongjoong’s gaze softens.

“We’ll be here the whole time.”

“You promise?” His voice comes out small and while normally he’d feel embarrassed, he can’t bring himself to care.

“Of course,” Hongjoon leans in, hand reaching up to cup his cheek. Jongho leans into the touch, closes his eyes and soaks in the comfort Hongjoong is offering him.

He nods, knows Hongjoon will be able to feel it against his hand and it’s the only answer he needs.

Yeosang’s voice lifts above the wind, singing over words that Jongho’s brain is too addled to sort through and understand. Instead, he soaks in the familiar timbre, soon joined by Wooyoung and then San. Yunho and Seonghwa join next. The five voices sing in harmony, as Hongjoong pulls his hand away from Jongho’s cheek and Mingi shifts his grip.

He steps forward and Mingi’s grasp is sure as he helps Jongho step down into the pit. As soon as his feet touch freshly turned dirt, Mingi releases him, and his voice joins the chorus.

“You’re ours Jongho, we’d never let anything hurt you.” Hongjoong promises one last time and Jongho kneels down.

He glances up one last time, only to see the full moon hanging high in the sky above him and nothing else.

“Alright,” he whispers, even though he knows no one will be able to hear him.

Jongho lays down, clutches his trembling hands to his chest and closes his eyes.

He jumps, teeth digging into his bottom lip when he feels the first clump of dirt fall onto his thigh. It should feel lonely, six feet below where the others are standing, but their voices, as they sing, lull him into what feels like security. Each shovel full feels less like an end, and more like the beginning that they had promised him.

Releasing his lip from between his teeth, Jongho exhales, and doesn’t fight it as the weight of the dirt starts to settle around him.

  


* * *

Hongjoong reaches out a hand, breath shuddering out of him when Seonghwa takes it without looking. He twines their fingers together and relief floods through Hongjoong at the contact. It eases the doubts that want to creep in, the _what ifs?_.

The moment that they had found Jongho that early afternoon in the diner, they had known he was theirs. It’s that possessiveness that spurs on the worry, the doubts. Hongjoong knows it like he knows to keep breathing despite the way the cold air makes his lungs sting. He knows it like he knows the weight of Seonghwa’s hand in his own is just an extension of himself. The doubts are nothing more than not having Jongho with them in that instant, even though he knows that it won’t be for long.

He knows that he’s not the only one that feels the creep of doubt, they all do. He can see it in the way Yeosang is picking at the dirt under his nails as he sits curled in Mingi’s lap, and the way San has stolen Yunho’s sweater and wrapped it around his shoulders. Wooyoung is more obvious about his doubts as he paces over to them, laying down on the ground and resting his cheek against Seonghwa’s thigh.

Seonghwa’s fingers immediately sink into his hair, carding through it and easing out the tangles that he’s gotten during the evening. Flexing the fingers of his free hand, Hongjoong resists reaching out to settle them on either of the boys at his side. He still has Seonghwa holding his hand and it doesn’t do to be greedy, not tonight.

“We’re almost there,” Seonghwa promises and Hongjoong feels the way they collectively relax at the sound of his voice.

Looking up, Hongjoong takes in the full moon hanging above them, just about to kiss the tree line.

“I’ll go,” Hongjoong murmurs, pushing himself up to his feet. Seonghwa doesn’t let go of his hand until the very last moment and even once he’s let go, Hongjoong still feels the warmth of his grip in his fingertips.

Walking forward, the eyes on him feel heavy, but it’s part of it. It’s how it goes, every time. Hongjoong walks to the tent to collect one of the candles they’d left untouched, lighting it with a match that Yeosang has so thoughtfully left out. The light illuminates everything around them and with the way the moon is slowly sinking lower, it will soon be the thing they need to guide their way through the clearing and back home.

He curls his toes against the cold ground, squares his shoulders, before stepping back out. Everyone is sitting up, attentive and waiting. It doesn’t matter that some of them have seen this six, five times, or that for one, this is the first. It inspires the same reverence regardless.

Hongjoong doesn’t know how long it’s been since they dropped the last shovel full of dirt, only knows that it’s been hours from the way his muscles ache from sitting in the cold for so long. It makes each step he takes stiff, but he bears it until he’s crouching down beside the pile of freshly upturned dirt.

“Come on Jongho, it’s time to wake up,” he murmurs, sinking the fingers of his free hand into the dirt. The sounds around him fade, from the wind to the sound of his own heartbeat, as he waits.

The candle in his hand flickers, wax dripping over his skin, the dirt shifts under his fingers and Hongjoong smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to come talk to me about these boys, possible prompts or just... anything at all: you can find me over at [twitter](https://twitter.com/Elesteria). I'm always down to chat at new people! You can also find me at [curiouscat](https://t.co/1yfgiUBE0r) if you have any thoughts, prompts or stuff that you're too nervous to say in public.


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